


The Way You Put That Smile Upon My Face

by keeper0fthestars



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feels, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Mention of smut, Soft Din Djarin, cursing, for anyone craving just one (1) kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29536509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeper0fthestars/pseuds/keeper0fthestars
Summary: You think he's joking. He's not.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, The Mandalorian x reader
Comments: 17
Kudos: 98





	The Way You Put That Smile Upon My Face

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when you can't get that part in Ch. 12 out of your head.

_"The unexpected can put a heart in your body, where a stone used to be"_ -Ron Hall

It’s the middle of the day. Normally, it would be the busiest too but all the folks happily buzzing underneath your canopy suddenly decide they have somewhere else to be when the imposing shape of a Mandalorian darkens your doorway.

He never does what you expect and maybe that’s what you like about him. 

You smile. You can’t help it. 

Selling used goods and spare parts do not bring enough credits to make a living but you’re not doing it for the money. He knows this second-hand shop of yours is only a cover. He knows the real reason you chose this planet. _‘Everyone’s hiding from someone. Or something’_ was how you’d once phrased it.

He wants to tell you that no one would ever come looking for you anymore. Eventually, he thinks, he’ll tell you how it took him a month to find the terrible men who’d kept you inside their fortress of ivory and wealth, hidden behind their pristine marble walls of luxury, and how in one night, he’d erased it from the map. 

He’d settle for not letting you out of his sight any time soon, but he knows that’s not an option. 

He does have an idea though. 

Setting a basket of trinkets down behind the counter, your gaze is drawn by those mile-wide shoulders. Fluid as ever and framed by his rifle and cape, the tower of armour moves with ease around your maze of haphazard clutter in your cramped little shop. 

There’s no one around within earshot anymore but you’re still careful and keep your voice muted. “Missing me already.” 

“You know I do,” his deep rasp tugs at a spot between your thighs, a delightful tender ache. Like you needed a reminder of where he’d buried himself last night. As if you would ever forget what the Mandalorian looks like tangled in your bedsheets, chest heaving and shining with sweat, blissed out and breathless underneath you. 

He was leaving today, you knew. You have no idea how long he would be away; you’ve never once asked. 

But if he was taking the time to see you again like this, you had a feeling he’d be gone a while. You struggle to tamp down the ache that rises in your chest, hoping the faint traces of him on your pillows would keep until he returned. 

All this and you’d never even kissed the man, do not know the colour of his eyes. 

His fingers run along the worn edge of the counter, inching towards you but stopping just shy of reaching your arm. 

The same fingers that had examined the new divot in your bedroom wall early this morning, the exact shape of your bedpost. _‘I should fix this’_ he’d purred through the modulator, a little bit amused. He’d been sitting on the edge of your bed with his pants still undone, knees splayed wide enough for you to stand between and it had taken no effort at all to push him back on your pillows again. _‘No’_ you’d murmured, lifting your knee over his thigh, kissing a wet trail up his bare chest. _'Leave it'_

‘Come with me.’ 

_What._ Your eyes study the black groove of his helmet. “Where?”

The planet is one you don’t recognize.

He can’t be serious. But that blank slate makes it impossible to really know and the excited flutter pressing bright and eager against your diaphragm doesn’t seem to care that he might be joking. 

Why would he want you to go with him? You can’t- 

‘I-,’ you start, but the visor swivels on you at such an angle that it effectively halts any further reasoning in your head. Closing the shop on a whim was never a problem for you in the past. He knows this because he’s been the reason you flip your sign and bolt the door at eleven in the goddamn morning sometimes. 

He towers over you now, the sheer size of him keeping you in place. His posture is easy though. Engulfing. _Stars,_ he’s broad. “Do you want to come?” 

_I wanna do a lot of things,_ you think, as hard line of heat spills like fire down the seams of your rational thoughts, drowning you in arousal, pounding in your ears. Okay, now he’s definitely just riling you up. You want to ask yourself _why_ but the real question is: 

Is this a game you want to play.

‘The ship will be in hyperspace for a week,’ he continues. Something else thrums underneath those calm words, something inviting that swoops low in your stomach and clenches.

“A week?” A smile tugs your lips, wondering what kind of bounty could be worth that much fuel.

The black line of his visor devours you. You _ache_ to touch him. You want to know if he’s as hard as you imagine. 

‘Each way,’ he clarifies, the liquid dark pitch of his voice tells you exactly where his mind is now, and yes, you want to play. 

You can’t exactly blame the man for thinking with his cock when the thought of climbing into his lap while he sits in that pilot's chair has you wet and _throbbing_ on the spot. 

You’re no gambler but you wonder what it would take to call his bluff. 

‘Well?’ He prods. 

“Kiss me and I’ll consider it.” 

The visor tilts, slowly and deliberately, holding your gaze. Silent except for the creak of a leather glove, where it clenches against the wall next to your head. You feel his stare. 

You want to blame the blazing sun outside for the heat climbing up your neck, but it would be a lie. Even he knew that. He knows you’re teasing.

His weight shifts onto one leg and a warm scoff crackles from the modulator in a way that tells you he’s grinning underneath that bucket. 

Midday raucous from the crowd in the square filters into the shop. 

Of course, he can’t just kiss you here; you know that. 

You’re only teasing. Maybe. 

But, so is he. 

In that instant, something beyond your perception catches his attention, almost enough for him to bristle his stance, but not quite. Just then someone walks in from the street and your moment evaporates. 

His goodbye is silent, nothing more than a brush of his glove over your elbow and then he’s gone, cape swirling behind him as the customer starts asking if you have what they need. 

You ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as you watch him disappear into the crowd. A bruise caught inside your throat begins to expand in his absence. You feel hollow like you’ve been robbed of a promise that was never meant to be. 

The customer needs to repeat themselves a third time before you register their words. 

Somehow, your lighthearted little game gets pushed from your mind as you start preparing the items they list. Even more astonishing, you happen to have everything they need. 

//

With the last delivery done for the day, you decide to take a shortcut on the way back. The alley is narrow and empty, totally hidden from the late afternoon sun. 

As soon as you round the corner, a silent blur of beskar gathers you up with dizzying speed, pressing you back against the wall with the smooth accuracy of someone who knows your reflexes better than you do.

Your gasp is cut short when his mouth gently collides with yours, helmet lifted just enough for his lips to find yours… And it’s all- 

_Slow_ and…

Hot breath and cold armour and a blinding thrill of tickling stubble. Overwhelmed, your eyes fall shut. 

He wedges you into the stone wall, clouding your senses, blurring the world around you with smoke and leather and gunmetal, the weight of his armor melting into you. His other arm sneaks into the space between your lower back and the wall and for someone so hard and intimidating, _stars,_ his mouth is unbearably soft. 

His lips move slow, like you’re caught in a dream. Like he’s pressing hope and madness and possibility into your lungs; things he doesn’t know how to say out loud. Unhurried, like he’s suddenly got all the time in the world because he knows you weren’t joking when you’d said what you wanted. And if he’d just... known it sooner… but he didn’t. 

He didn’t know beds could be this soft, he didn’t know you could taste this sweet. He didn’t know a lot of things before you.

A dim corner of your brain tries to warn you. Anyone could stumble down here and see him with his helmet tipped up, balancing promise and creed between his thumb and two fingers, but _fuck,_ it’s a losing battle because one broad glove is sliding heavy and warm under the back of your shirt and you’re breathing him _in_ and it’s hypnotizing and obscene the way your body responds to the slant of his mouth, the slow hot dip of his tongue, the way your back arches and your hips roll to meet his, the throbbing ache that flares inside your cunt when he licks inside your mouth again, hot and sluggish. He takes every whimper you give him, swallows them. 

_‘Shh, mygirl,’_ his bare voice is like silk against your mouth, unable to control the pleased grin on his face. His lips are thoroughly wet with the taste of you now and he likes when your hands clutch at the corners of his chest plate and at his cape, he likes when you can’t catch your breath and can’t let go of him so he sinks deeper into your mouth, a soft hungry sound follows with it. 

The heat of your mouth has haunted him in his sleep. The wet glide of your tongue, your plush lips under this thumb, shiny and slicked and sweet, buried around the base of his cock. Long ago you’d dug yourself deep into his skin, taken him in your mouth, seen all his thoughts. 

But _this._ This terrifying sweet spot, between him and you. Your warm glow is in _his_ mouth now. It’s not the only thing he wants to taste but for that, he needs you in his bed; both your hands anchored in his hair, your legs quivering around his shoulders, he wants to take his time and lick his fingers clean... 

He wants to let the visor fall to the ground… maybe you’ll help him. He might let you. Because he’s never held anything as soft as you in his _life_ and he’s so fucking hard it _hurts._

A shudder trembles unsteady inside his ears and it takes him a second to realize the sound came from his own chest. 

His groan vibrates between your bodies, breaking through your senses, hot breath, splintered and urgent. His voice is hoarse, thick and fuzzy like wisps of smoke inside your head.

When he finally pulls away, you’re limp and delirious against the wall, robbed of the sudden loss of his warmth. He pries your hand from him, and you feel it fall, dangling weightlessly at your side, every inch of you bereft. Breathless. Longing for more. 

By the time you drag your heavy eyelids open, all you see is the back of his helmet and he’s gone again, gravel crunching under his boots with each step. 

And your palm is _burning_ from where he pressed his mouth into it before he slid the visor back down. With shaky fingers, you trace your bottom lip, all tingly and still wet from the focus of his intentions. You’re not sure your feet are even touching the ground anymore. 

You’re aching and your throat is tight because your brain only just registered what he’d said to you. 

_“We leave in an hour.”_

~~

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, he's literally gonna fuck you into next week, bounty be damned... tell me you'd be mad about that.


End file.
